Date: Mon, 31 Dec 2001 02:54:18 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: vancouver island, chapter 6

This story involves teen/boy, teen/adult, male/male graphic
sex and is not intended for reading by minors. If you are
underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live,
please stop now, and go read something else! This is a
completely fantasized story meant only for the purpose of
pleasurable reading. This story is not meant to encourage
unsafe, unprotected sex.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Vancouver Island ~ chapter six


by Biscuit


I think Yves liked posing at first, and I know he liked
playing in the tub, but he didn't like Nathan. He didn't
like Nathan touching me, telling us what to do, and in
the early hours of the second morning in that hotel, he
woke me up to say so.

It was barely dawn when I felt his fingers on my cheek,
gently tapping my face to wake me up. God, I was so
comfortable. How long had it been since I'd slept in a
real bed with a big fat pillow under my head, in an
honest to God warm room? If it had just been me, I'd
have probably hung on with Nathan Jones until he got
tired of me. I wasn't crazy about him, but the car, the
hotel room, the safe haven to get stoned in, I would
have stayed for all that.

Yves was dressed, I was confused by the feeling of
his jacket under my hands.

"Jamie," he whispered, "we got to go. Put the clothes
on." What a will he had. I tried to snuggle him into
my arms, hoping he'd shut up and go back to sleep
with me. Nathan and I had been up so late. Drinking,
smoking, fucking. He was passed out on the other side
of the king-sized bed.

Even in the half light I could see the determination in
Yves's eyes when he pulled away from me. All it took
was the sight of him shouldering his pack and heading
for the door, like he'd leave without me, to rocket me
from that bed.

I didn't really believe he'd go anywhere without me.
But that he wanted out of there so bad, that he'd get
up and pack all our stuff in the middle of the night,
was enough.

I stumbled into my clothes, wishing Nathan would
wake up and stop me. The whole time I was splashing
my face in the bathroom I was hoping Nathan would
walk in and ask me what the fuck I thought I was
doing. But he didn't. The guy was out cold. He didn't
even twitch when I slid the cash out of his wallet. I
didn't take it all, but what the fuck, I probably
lightened his load by about a hundred bucks. Looking
back, I think he got off pretty cheap.

Bleary-eyed, with a cup of takeout coffee, and a boy
as a happy as a lark by my side, I kissed that luxury
hotel, and my budding career as a porn star, good bye.

Yves was happiness itself, walking through the city
streets at dawn, heading for the bus station. I had in
mind getting us to California, though I'd heard, at
the music festival where I met Saguaro, that Eugene,
Oregon was pretty nice. New York and my mom
were in the back of my mind, but I wasn't ready for
that yet. Maybe, if I'd been alone I would have headed
home. But how was I going to tell her I was bringing
a little kid home with me. Not just a little kid. Yves.

Bus tickets weren't as cheap as I'd hoped, which
is how we ended up going to Eugene. And Eugene
wasn't as cool as I'd hoped, which is how we ended
up on the highway with our thumbs out.

We got a ride to the coast highway from a guy
who kept putting his hand on my leg, but was so
creepy, it made my flesh crawl. He kept saying he
just wanted to hold my hand, in this weird quiet
voice. No fucking way. He'd have taken us further
down the coast but as soon as I saw a town name, I
said that's where we were headed, and I got out of
that car feeling like I'd escaped with my life. It's
weird how one guy asking you to suck his dick
seems okay, and another one wanting to hold your
hand makes the hair on the back of your neck
stand up.

I was bummed. It was so many miles between exits
on that road and Yves and I kept walking without
a ride. The little guy was trying to keep my spirits
up. To him it was still an adventure. Every thing
was new and different and he would try to point
shit out to me along the road. He even sang me
songs in French.

I should have been the one looking after him but
he was the one who was keeping me going. Later,
I'd see the blisters on his feet from the shoes he
wasn't used to wearing yet, and I'd feel like such
a piece of shit. He never said a word.

We'd been walking for hours when we stopped to
rest on a guard rail near sunset, Yves leaning into
my arms, with his nose butting into my cheek. I
was trying to think of what we would do for the
night. There were some trees down the hillside
next to the road, some kind of pine, I guess, with
broad sweeping branches all the way to the ground.
I was thinking we could maybe hide under one of
them and be safe enough in my sleeping bag.
That's when we finally got a ride.

Didn't even have our thumbs out. The car cruised
past and pulled over, about thirty feet down the
road where there was a shoulder big enough to
stop on. A young guy got out and started waving.

Dave, and his buddy Greg, in a junk heap on
wheels. A beautiful thing. Their car had a busted
window that they'd tried to tape plastic over, but
it kept coming loose and flapping away like crazy.
They were eighteen years old, from Ohio. They'd
been up in Washington state, picking apples, and
hated it. Now they had a couple of big boxes of
apples and pears in the trunk and were heading to
California. My kind of guys. I broke out some
buds to celebrate and we pulled into the next
town to hit a convenience store and MacDonald's.
Heaven.

"Big Mac is good, Jamie." Yves was an instant
convert to junk food, and me to watching him
eat it. I'm pretty easily entertained when I'm
high, but even straight, I loved to watch him eat.
Greg and Dave couldn't believe anybody had
never eaten a Big Mac and fries before. They
were cracking each other up, showing Yves
the correct way to dunk fries in ketchup.

Then we were were flying down the coast with
crazy Greg at the wheel. Those guys were too
stoned to care what me and Yves were doing in
the windy back seat. We were flat on the seat,
trying to avoid the gale force wind coming in
through the broken window. Yves was warm on
my belly, he'd covered our heads with his coat;
his personal cloaking device.

This time, I was under it with him, and he was
giving me with the world's most incredible,
special sauce and fries flavored kisses. We were
quietly making fire, rubbing a couple of sticks
together. My reward for leaving Nathan Jones
and his fancy car behind. Worth a million
nights in a fancy hotel; no contest.

The first night, we all slept in the car. The two
of them in front with the seats back. Me and
Yves scrunched up together in back.

I remember when we crossed the state line into
California, Greg pulled over, got out of the car
and kissed the side of the road. Greg looked as
crazy as he was. A big, burly blond. He was
trying to grow himself some dreadlocks, all
matted up frizzy blond hair. Dave was dark and
smaller and slim; his hair parted down the middle
and hanging to his cheeks. They were straight,
I think.

The second night, we camped out with them in
the woods, not far from a river in some state park.
Yves loved it; the fire, the guys, cooking hot-dogs
on sticks. Boy scouts on drugs.

That's where I saw his feet in the firelight. Fuck.
Bloody and blistered. He was like a patient with
three stoned doctors. Dave had some junk he'd
used on his raw hands after apple picking. I tried
to clean his feet up with some of the bottled water
we had and then Dave put the junk on them. Greg
just stared at them, saying, "Oh man. That looks
bad, kid."

Yves was stretched out on my sleeping bag, next
to the fire with his feet in my lap. The boys and
I had eaten some mushrooms and smoked some
more weed. I guess I was high enough that I
didn't think about what I was doing, so used to
being free to touch him. Spacing out. I was
watching the flames dance and my hand started
wandering up his legs and ended up in his crotch.
I was gently fingering his balls, stroking him
through his jeans, tracing the shape of his dick,
feeling it stiffen up under my fingers.

"What do you think you're doing, man?" Greg
said. I looked up from the fire, brain on slow.

"I like it," Yves said. Greg laughed.

"Yeah, like who doesn't? Nice boner, kid."

Dave sounded nervous, "You think you ought
to be doing that shit to him?"

I meant to stop, but I didn't pull my hand away.
I looked across the fire at the two of them, and
my hand just froze on Yves's dick, wondering,
in a distant kind of way, if I was about to get
the crap beat out of me.

Didn't look like it. Dave looked uncomfortable,
but not angry. Greg was grinning at me.

"I think he ought to be doing it to me," Greg
said. Maybe it was the mushrooms, but I was
pretty sure that both of those straight boys were
boned up. I was feeling a nice slow rise myself.

"Bring it over," I said. "I got two hands."

I think Dave was the only one surprised when
Greg dragged his bed roll over and spread it
out on the other side of me. Yves laughed at
him and Dave swore under his breath.

I don't know why it didn't bother Yves that
Greg wanted me to jack him off. He hadn't
liked me blowing that driver and hated me
doing anything with Nathan, but the whole
thing with Greg just seemed funny to him, at
least at first.

"This," Greg announced, unzipping his jeans,
"is gonna be good." We all watched him drop his
pants down a pair of strong looking legs covered
with blond fuzz. His stiff dick was bouncing; a
good seven inches of pink rod with his balls
nearly hidden in light brown fur. He wagged it
at me as he made himself comfortable, his knees
bent and spread to give me the big picture of his
cock and furry balls, not to mention a pretty
good look at his crack.

I started laughing, I couldn't help it. I'm afraid
I let go of Yves, finding it was more than my
stoned brain could focus on, as I started to work
on Greg's pole. He was so into it, his arms back
behind his head, hips rolling up. Got to love a
guy that's loving it that much.

"Fuckin' A," he said when I worked some of his
juice down, and spit in my hand to slick him up.
I didn't notice Yves pulling his feet out of my lap.
I just looked up and saw him on his knees in front
of me. He was naked and the sight of him in the
fire light, with his dick pointing at me and his
hands on his hips stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Oh no you don't, no way," Greg said, sitting
up with a groan. He reached out for Yves and
grabbed him.

"Chalice!" Yves swore. They say it -- calleece.
The French Canadians are big on religious stuff
for swearing. But he was laughing, too, as Greg
wrestled him down onto his chest.

"Your boyfriend is busy, little man. You gotta
wait your turn now." Yves was giggling and
twisting around and Greg made noises like he
was getting crushed as Yves struggled until he
was turned over and lying on his back. Greg's
cock was like a live iron rod in my hand. I
knew he was getting off on Yves's hot little
body. You'd have to be dead not to.

Yves used him like he was a mattress. His dusky
brown legs spread open so Greg's pink dick was
looming up at me from between them. Jesus,
what a sight. Greg was getting his dick warmed
by Yves's ass and he had his big hands on the kids'
waist.

"Oh man, I don't believe this shit," Dave groaned.
Me neither. I'd had a kind of lazy boner before,
but the sight of Greg's seven inches with Yves
spread out like a banquet over top of it, was too
much for me to take with my pants still zipped.
I eased myself out of them and got down to some
serious cock worship and ass appreciation. Greg
had no idea how bad I wanted to slip him a length
that night.

It was so hot, going from one to the other, one
in my hand and the other in my mouth. If only
I could have fucked one of them! Two pairs of
buns dancing under my nose, one too little,
and the other -- forget about it. Greg might have
been into getting his dick worked over but even
as far gone as I was, I knew he'd freak if I tried
anything like that.

It was good though, even so. I sucked Yves into
a squirmy oblivion, with my hand wrapped
around Greg's cock, keeping it warm for me.
He liked seeing me sucking on Yves and talked
him up.

"You gonna come?" he teased him. "Come on
boy, you can do it!" And when Yves did, his
butt quivering, Greg's dick jerked like crazy
in my hand and I thought he might shoot off
too.

I don't know exactly when Dave worked up the
nerve to come over there, but he was there
when I looked up. On his knees with his dick in
his hand, still dripping from blowing a load. He
was wiping it off, and looked at me, kind of
shy from under those wings of dark hair.

"Fuck, Jamie," he said, sort of gravely. "That
was so hot." He pushed his hair behind his ear,
where it would stay for about five seconds and
tucked his dick back in his loose pants. Then
he reached out for Yves. "Come on," he said.
"I want to look at your feet before you go to
bed."

Yves nodded. Me and Dave picked him up off
Greg's chest and put him back on my sleeping
bag. Greg nudged me with his foot, like I'd
forgotten he was lying there with major wood,
waiting for me. I didn't forget him.

I gave that guy head he'd remember the rest of
his life. I sucked his furry balls until he was
almost crying and teased him down my throat
until he begged for mercy. He came so hard it
was like he was dying.

I did it because he hadn't beaten the crap out
of me, because he'd been so sweet, in his goofy
way, to Yves, and because I liked it. He couldn't
even talk after. Didn't even notice I'd spunked
all over his ass. I couldn't fuck him, but what
the hell.

Those guys were all right. More than that. They
got us to San Francisco where we parted ways in
Golden Gate park. They were headed south to
look for more work picking fruit and Yves was
starting to get antsy around Greg.

Maybe I did him too good. He wanted more of
it than Yves wanted him to get. And the truth is,
I wasn't crazy about how often he was grabbing
at Yves. It was time to say good bye to the big
blond rasta.